Vagabonds Part Three: This Is Planet Earth
by Sewer Slider
Summary: When an unexpected detour leaves three of the Freedom Fighters stranded on an alien planet, tempers start fraying. Can the mistakes of the past and the uncertainty of the present lead to anything but trouble?
1. Sightings

**Author Note: **This is the third in the Vagabond series. Thanks to everyone who reads, reviews and has stuck with it this long! Sorry it's later than it should have been, Real Life has kicked me right in the teeth of late (I'm so far behind on my reading it's not even funny).

Enjoy!

_&&&&&&& _

It had seemed a good idea to install some surveillance cameras around Brimstone, a way for the Freedom Fighters to keep their eye on things. The cameras had proved worth the effort, giving them advance warning on two different attacks on the former city, a raid on the ruins, mice in trouble or injured. A couple of times it meant finding weapons or supplies they may never have realised were there prior to the installation.

It was impossible to cover the entire area, but the cameras that were in place were vital to the continued efforts against the Plutarkian invaders. The monitors were constantly surveyed, a mouse watching at all times. Usually Freedom Fighters with injuries used the surveillance as a way to do their share for the war, during quiet periods there were volunteers. It was rare that Stoker was forced to order someone to watch the monitors, but when he was he nearly always chose Vinnie for the job, merely because he found it amusing to watch the white mouse forced to remain inactive for long periods.

The one mouse that was always willing to volunteer to watch the monitors was Throttle.

Mostly he took the period when most of the Freedom Fighters were sleeping, a couple of hours before they all woke up for the days activities. At those times, it was just him in front of the screens watching the darkened, ravaged city and occasionally the mice guarding the facility returning to check in. Everyone knew he would be at the monitors at that time unless something came up, just as everyone knew why he was doing it.

The truth was he wasn't just keeping an eye on Brimstone during his watch over the cameras.

It was a simple task to move the monitors to split screen; one half showing the current view, the other archive footage. Each night, Throttle would check through the archives, seeing who or what had been moving around in the vicinity. It was usually the same old thing – mice on their motorcycles, occasionally Sand Raiders. There was rarely anything worthy of his attention. But Throttle checked anyway, every time without fail. He had to find Mace. He had to find Mace and make him pay for what he had done to Chopper. He had promised.

The three kids, Rimfire, Primer and Chopper, had wanted nothing more than to be Freedom Fighters, begging all the time to be allowed to come to Brimstone and help out. Much as Throttle could sympathise – he'd been the same at their age – he hadn't wanted them there.

With good reason as it turned out.

They could cope with the obstacles that had been in their way. The whole Tug Transformer incident would have meant the mice losing the war if not for the three teenage mice. And what had it gotten them?

Rimfire, antennae damaged beyond repair, a severe concussion that had taken months to heal properly and a dislocated shoulder that still gave him occasional problems.

Primer, losing her left eye and scarring the side of her face there, forcing her to wear an eye patch.

Chopper, having her left leg removed three inches below the knee, the right an inch above.

And when he had told his mother what had happened… Altezza had been devastated and that hurt him almost as much as knowing what had happened to Chopper. He had sworn to his mother that Chopper would be safe with him. He had promised that he could take care of all three of them, would look after them and not let them get hurt – and then Mace had shown up and come perilously close to killing them.

But the reaction Altezza had was almost a pleasant memory when compared to the way Chopper had handled the event. Or failed to handle it, as it turned out.

Most of the time, he managed to push those memories aside. He could laugh with Vinnie and Carbine, could concentrate on their missions, listen to the wisdom that Stoker gave. But there was a part of him that couldn't forget, didn't want to forget. He wanted revenge on Mace with an ache that was physical.

Mace was going to pay. Throttle knew that everything would be alright if he could just find Mace and mete out some justice. He just had to find him…Where though? There had been no sign of him.

So Throttle spent his nights searching for Mace, going through the archives until there was no doubt that the mouse had not been captured on their surveillance.

It was almost two years later that he was finally rewarded.He was tired, the only thing keeping him awake knowing that in a few minutes Denel would be up to relieve him of his watch and he could finally go to bed. Not that it had been a busy night. The Plutarkians were nowhere to be seen for the last few days.

He sleepily watched the archive footage from the day, when he saw something that chased sleep from his mind entirely. Startled, he paused the footage and zoomed in. No good. Too distant…

But he still had his mechanical eye. He zoomed in, the whine that had irritated him so much at the beginning barely registering now. There was no doubt. The Sand Raiders were off in the distance to the camera – but there was a familiar figure with them.

"Mace."

Throttle's voice was too low to be heard by any of the other Freedom Fighters, but a rather nasty grin broke out across his face. He'd been searching for so long… and now here he was. Throttle was less than twelve hours behind him.

It was all he could do to keep from taking off right away. Instead, he ran to where Vinnie and Carbine slept and hammered on the door.

"Wzzuh?" Carbine's voice sounded from behind the door.

"Carbine." Throttle kept his voice pitched low. "I found Mace."

"Really?" Carbine sounded curious and a high pitched squeak told Throttle that Vinnie was awake and being silenced by his girlfriend.

"Really. He's with the Sand Raiders."

Throttle kept listening, hearing the sounds of the two moving around. Carbine confirmed it a moment later by arriving at the door fully dressed, if slightly dishevelled."You're going for him?" she asked, leaning against the wall and ignoring the muffled curses of Vinnie from within the room.

"Yeah. I have to." Throttle looked at the ground. "Chopper…"

"Hey." Carbine laid her hand on his arm and smiled. "Bros together, remember? We're with you.""Thanks," smiled Throttle as Vinnie finally showed up at the door. "But – just us three. Stokes wouldn't like us chasing off after Mace."

"He'd understand," Carbine informed him."But he wouldn't like it." Throttle sighed and looked toward the exit. "No, we do better dealing with this ourselves and telling Stoker about it when we get back."Carbine frowned. "I'm not sure that's wise. Chasing after the Sand Raiders without anyone else knowing where we've vanished to…"

"It's the way I want to do it," said Throttle determinedly."It's simple," added Vinnie, pounding a fist against his palm. "We go out there, whip Sand Raider tail, grab Mace and bring him back here – he gets a trial and bam! Into the Pit of Everlasting Doom!"

"Everlasting Doom is too good for him," growled Throttle. "Let's ride."

Carbine looked unconvinced, but in light of the determination of the other two, accompanied them anyway. They headed for their bikes, snatching guns and grenades from the armoury before they left.

"Got the co-ordinates?" asked Carbine through their helmet radios.Throttle gave them to her and Vinnie and the three of them sped off into the Martian desert.

Carbine rode in silence for a few minutes, then her concerns got the better of her again. "Why has Mace chosen _now_ to pop up again?"

"He was lying low," returned Throttle. "He's finally gotten careless."

"And we're gonna nail him to the wall!" Vinnie pulled a wheelie, obviously happy to be out doing something.

"Perhaps," said Carbine. "But why would Mace be with the Sand Raiders?"

"He was selling us out to the Plutarkians all along and the Sand Raiders work for them," said Vinnie, in a tone that suggested he was pointing out the obvious.

"But the Sand Raiders don't have any love for mice," replied Carbine. "And with his cover blown, how would Mace be of any use to them?"

"He can still fight," said Vinnie. "And the Plutarkians aren't above using Mouse help when it suits them."

There was a few moments silence between them and although it was never acknowledged, they were all thinking of Modo. The modified mouse had not been seen by anyone since the Freedom Fighters stopped the Tug Transformer, although the three of them had searched for him. Examination of the ruins of Stilton's castle had revealed no clue as to where Modo might be and although Stilton had rebuilt, there was no sign of Modo being with him – and no sign of Karbunkle either. Hard as it was to accept, it seemed that Karbunkle had been reassigned and taken his pet project with him. They could be anywhere.

"Mace is unfinished business," said Throttle eventually.

"So let's finish it," replied Vinnie.

Carbine nodded, pushing her doubts aside. There were plenty of perfectly good reasons for Mace to be associated with the Sand Raiders, not least as he was wanted throughout the Cave Mouse population for treason, murder and sabotage. He had to find shelter somewhere.

The co-ordinates led them to the outskirts of Brimstone, across the ravaged landscape. The Plutarkian war had gone on for longer than any of them had anticipated, the invaders determined to have Mars, the Martians equally determined to keep it. But the Plutarkians had the superiority of numbers, money to fund their invasion and a ruthlessness that was legendary. Slowly, the mouse population dwindled and their ammunition and weapons ran ever lower. The war was not yet lost, but hope of victory was at an all time low.

But every mouse on the planet knew about what Mace had done, how he had betrayed them. Maybe finally catching up to him and dealing with him would restore some of the Freedom Fighters flagging morale, Throttle reflected grimly. Right now, it couldn't get much lower.

"This is where I saw them," he said aloud, stopping his bike and looking around. "

No sign of the Sand Raiders though," said Vinnie, disappointed.

"They'll have gone further into the desert," said Carbine.

"So what are we waiting for?" Throttle gunned his engine. "Let's rock-"

"And ride!" Vinnie and Carbine joined in, riding off after Throttle.

But initially, there was no sign of the Sand Raiders. After a long time of fruitless searching, Vinnie stopped his bike and growled. "Oh, where is the action?"

"Maybe they took off somewhere," said Throttle, discouraged.

"And we've got another problem." Carbine pointed to her dash, which was bleeping urgently. "I think someone raised the alarm about us going missing. We probably ought to get back."

"Just a little longer," said Throttle. "I know I saw Mace out here!"

"Come on babe, you can sweet-talk Stoker," added Vinnie, who hated returning empty handed.

Rolling her eyes, Carbine nodded and pressed the vid-link on her bike. "Hey Stoker."

"Carbine. Nice of you three to tell us you were going."

"We were following something we saw on the monitors, but its gone dead," replied Carbine, trying to sound blasé.

"Well, get back here. Just because we haven't seen any stink fish for a while doesn't mean they've forgotten about the land around here that's still there for mining."

"On our way," said Carbine, switching off the link. "We gotta be quick if we're searching any more. Stoker wants us back at base."

"Man, there's nothing out there," muttered Vinnie, scouring the horizon.

In response, the sand before them began to tremble and a stilt walker rose from where it had been hidden beneath the soil. Taken by surprise, the three mice reacted to the same sound behind them, realising that four more had emerged from the ground, no sign of them one moment, the next raised above them with guns trained and the Sand Raiders smirking within.

"You were saying Vincent?" Throttle pulled his lasers and took aim. "How did they know we were here? What's going on?"

"I'd say we were set up," replied Carbine dryly.

"Then we show them that this_ isn't_ a better mousetrap." Vinnie peeled his bike away as a stilt walker blasted at him, the other two mice following suit as the stilt walkers gave chase. "AAOOWW!"


	2. Slavers

Vinnie came to gradually, blinking his eyes open and taking in his surroundings. His first realisation was that he was lying uncomfortably on his side. His second was that his wrists were cuffed together in front of him, a longer chain running from the links between the cuffs and leading to a spike hammered into the ground. Glancing around, the expanse of white canvas walls suggested a tent, and there was only one race on Mars that used that method of housing.

Across the tent, chained to the same spike, Throttle was sitting with his gaze trained on the wall. Although it was hard to see through his shades, Vinnie suspected he had his bionic eye set to heat seek and was looking for shapes through the wall.

"You're conscious," said Throttle calmly.

"Yeah," grumbled Vinnie, managing to raise himself to a sitting position. "And no offense bro, but you're _not_ the mouse I prefer to wake up with. Where's Carbine?"

"She wasn't here when I came to, and I can't make out any body heat outside - the canvas is too thick."

"Dammit!" Vinnie cursed, yanked ineffectively at the chain attaching them to the floor. "What happened?"

"Took a few minutes for the memory to come back for me too," said Throttle. "Some kind of new weapon - an electronic net. One of the Sand Raisers shot it out of the stilt walker and once it covered us all, it shocked us into unconsciousness."

"Yeah," muttered Vinnie, memory hazy but finally returning. "The Sand Raiders don't have technology like that."

"No, but I know a race of stink fish that do," replied Throttle darkly. "We've been set up."

"Mace?"

"Yeah. They must have found out about the cameras and know how bad we want to bring Mace to justice - I don't know if they expected all the Freedom Fighters or a few, but they knew he'd draw us out." Throttle clenched his fists. "I led us right into a trap."

"Hey, don't sweat it bro." Vinnie tried to sound reassuring. "We've been in worse situations than this. The Biker Mice can't be kept prisoner by some Sand Raiders, not in this lifetime!"

"Newsflash Vincent. The Sand Raisers are slavers - whoever they've decided to sell us to is probably already on their way."

Vinnie forced away the sudden memory of staring up at the white expanse of laboratory ceiling while the crazed doctor, Karbunkle, gave a rasping giggle as he went to make the first incision in his face. "So we need to come up with a plan quick then. How about we bust out of these chains..."

"...Pound the Raiders right_ into_ the sand..."

"...Get my girl..."

"...Find our bikes..."

"...And get back to headquarters before Stoker blows his cooling system! Aaoooww!"

Throttle grinned. "Smooth. Subtle. I like it!"

"Too bad it's too late for all that," said a voice from the entrance. Throttle and Vinnie looked up to see one of the Sand Raiders smirking at them, armed with one of their own lasers. "Time to go boys. We found us a buyer."

&&&&&&&&&

Carbine was usually cranky on waking. More so when she was waking from being knocked out. And the fat Sand Raider wasn't helping matters at all.

"No way on Mars," she snarled as he held up the flimsiest garment she had ever seen and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Never gonna happen. Now where are my friends?"

"Only one way to find out," replied the Sand Raider, looking to her and then back to the dress.

Carbine was about to suggest he go do something unpleasant and probably illegal involving a Noga, nipple clamps and several thousand volts when it occurred to her that this could be just the chance she needed. It was an effort to rearrange her features into a smile, but she managed it somehow. Almost unconsciously, she launched into her imitation of Vinnie when he was trying to get around her or talk her into something.

"Can a girl get a little privacy?" she purred. "I wouldn't feel comfortable changing in full view."

As she had hoped, her sudden change in attitude was appreciated rather than suspected by the Sand Raider, proving that no matter what their species, men lose the power to think when the possibility of a girl in a short skirt arises. He gave her a sly grin and indicated to the tent behind him.

"Um…" She raised her hands, cuffed together and chained to a spike in the ground.

Unfortunately, the Sand Raider wasn't totally stupid, pulling a laser and training it on her as he released the spike, leaving her still cuffed. Sighing inwardly, she took the offered dress and went inside, looking around the tent in disgust. It resembled a harem designed by someone who had watched way too much Ali Baba, but at least there was a curtain she could duck behind. She doubted she would be left alone in the tent and in that, she was 100 per cent right. But that didn't mean this was a peep show.

"Don't take too long," grinned the Sand Raider.

Carbine rolled her eyes and ducked behind the curtain. There was nothing in the tent she could see that would help her get out of this situation. For now, she would have to play along.

"So, you said you'd tell me what happened to my friends?" she asked, making her voice sound uncharacteristically timid and trying to work out which way up the stupid outfit went. And how did he expect her to disrobe with her hands cuffed anyway?

"Don't you worry; you won't be meeting their fate. You'll be staying right here."

_No chance in hell_ Carbine thought, taking a peek around the curtain and seeing the laser still trained in her direction. Scowling, she hurriedly yanked the dress on over the top of her clothes and realised in disgust that she wasn't going to be able to roll up her sleeves and get away with it.

"Sounds like our buyers are here right now," the Sand Raider continued and Carbine heard the sound a moment later, recognising it but for a moment believing her ears must be mistaken. It was a Cave Mouse Cyclodrone Thunderpipe, not seen in Brimstone in months.

Great. They were about to be rescued and she was dressed like a victim in a horror film.

"And our bikes?"

"Scrap metal, useful commodity."

Carbine froze. This –_ arse_ – just described her bike as _scrap metal_?

It was then she looked around the curtain again and saw that the Sand Raider had taken his eyes off her and was looking in the direction the noise came from. Seizing her chance, she swung the chain attached to the cuffs and hit the Raider with the spike that had attached her to the ground. It caught him under the chin and sent him sprawling to the ground, dazed. Carbine ran to the exit, fetching him a hefty kick to the temple as she passed.

"You mess with me, that's one thing. You mess with my bros, now you got a problem. But you mess with me, my bros _and_ my bike?"

For good measure she kicked him in the head again, then raced out looking for wherever the Sand Raiders were hiding Vinnie and Throttle.

She hadn't been wrong. There was a Martian space cruiser landing nearby, yet it was being ignored by the guards around. Keeping her suspicions for later, Carbine ducked out of sight and stayed low, surveying the area and guessing that Vinnie and Throttle were more than likely in the second largest tent, the largest belonging to the Sand Raider with the bad taste in clothes. And sure enough, when she crept through the entrance to the tent, she saw a Sand Raider with his back to her, a gun trained on someone hidden to her view. Grinning, she gathered the chain and spike in her hands and bashed the Sand Raider in the back of the head with it. He went down like a ton of bricks and stayed down.

Vinnie and Throttle both grinned when they saw her, although Vinnie's grin grew decidedly lecherous when he noticed what the dress over the top of her usual clothes. "Sweetheart! You wore that just for me?"

"Want me to leave you here?" Carbine grabbed the laser from the comatose Sand Raider and blasted at the chains binding the two mice to the ground. The pair stood, hands still cuffed but at least not bound to the tent.

"We gotta be quick," said Carbine, turning to leave.

"She looks _good_ in chains!" said Vinnie, nudging Throttle in the ribs, who sniggered.

"Our bikes are being turned into scrap," snapped Carbine.

That wiped the smile of Vinnie's face in a hurry. "Oh, _hell_ no. _My_ bike?"

On instinct, Throttle let out a piercing whistle, signalling to the bikes. A moment later there was a roar of engines from some distance away.

"Way to keep a low profile," growled Carbine, diving out of the tent and hitting the ground, blasting at the Sand Raiders who had realised something was going down and were heading to the tent. She knocked the guns out of the hands out of the nearest two, cursing their lack of firepower.

Vinnie and Throttle were right behind her, but the guns dropped by the Sand Raiders were too far away and their own weapons had been confiscated. Three handcuffed mice with one gun against a large number of Sand Raiders didn't sound like good odds.

The three bikes chose that moment to ride into the picture, bowling over Sand Raiders left and right. The mice jumped on and roared off toward the Raiders again, Throttle and Vinnie using their tails as they passed the downed slavers to snag a gun each.

And just as the odds were beginning to even out, the door of the Cyclodrone Thunderpipe swung open and spewed out a group of seven Plutarkians, all bearing guns which they wasted no time in using.

"Plutarkians in one of _our_ cruisers?" Vinnie sounded more outraged by this than by the fish shooting at them.

"Probably stolen, keeping a low profile by pretending to be us," Carbine replied.

"So what say we steal it back?" said Throttle, returning fire with the Plutarkians.

"Vinnie, get them away from the ship," ordered Carbine, knowing that with their hands still cuffed in front of them, Vinnie stood the best chance of creating the opportunity with limited mobility.

"Aaooww! Consider it done sweetheart!"

Vinnie rode right at the Plutarkians, weaving and dodging their shots and at the last minute leaping his bike over their heads. All seven paused to stare up as he passed over them – and were blinded as he hit a button on the dash, spraying oil from the rear of the bike, coating the enemy and rendering them sightless as it dripped into their eyes. Assuming they would be attacked as soon as Vinnie landed, they ran forward blindly, slipping in the oil and attempting to crawl away.

Seeing their chance, Carbine and Throttle steered clear of the fire from the remaining Sand Raiders and followed Vinnie into the Mouse Cruiser, Throttle hitting the button that would close the hatch behind them.

Carbine abandoned her bike and ran to the controls, which were shaped to resemble their motorcycles dashboards. It was a relatively straightforward matter to get the engines started.

"Might wanna hurry that up babe," shouted Vinnie as the sound of lasers hitting metal rained around them.

"Yes _sir_," she snapped back, pulling back on the handlebars. "Throttle, give me a hand. Vinnie, go see if there's anything we can cut these damn cuffs with."

Vinnie took off toward the back of the ship, while Throttle raced forward and helped Carbine with the controls. The cruiser rose sharply up to a height of about twenty feet, took a lurch forward, then stopped again. Throttle managed to steady himself, hearing the distant thud and yelp that suggested Vinnie had not been so lucky. "Jeez Carbine, when was the last time you piloted one of these?"

"I've never piloted one. I was kinda hoping you had."

"Nope."

"Damn."

The controls' being similar to those of their bikes was their saving grace, allowing Carbine to figure out how to accelerate away from the desert. It was the_ differences _that proved more problematic, Carbine unable to control the height while trying to flee and accidentally sending the ship way too high.

"Um, Carbine? I don't know if you've noticed the certain space-like quality of the sky around here…"

"_I know_!"

Looking wildly around the partially familiar controls, she saw a lever that she assumed to be some kind of emergency brake. Reaching up, the spike on the end of the chain rattling over the controls, she yanked it back. Immediately, the cruiser began to accelerate even faster, causing another crash and yell from the rear of the ship.

Throttle grabbed the control and shoved it forward; resuming the speed they had been travelling at previously. "Who designed this stupid thing?"

"Stoker used to work on designs for the Cyclodrone Thunderpipes," Carbine mentioned.

"Ah. That explains it."

"The only thing to do is turn the ship and head back to Mars – maybe we can get in contact with Stoker when we get in range and get him to tell us how to work the controls." Carbine tried to pull her wrists further apart but was hampered by the cuffs. "It'd be easier to do if I could move properly."

"Ask and you shall receive sweetheart." Vinnie's voice sounded behind the two and they turned to see the white-furred mouse entering the control room again, the cuffs and chain missing from his arms. "The Plutarkians left a ton of stuff in here; all the mouse weapons were just lying there. Guess they didn't expect us, huh?"

"Weapons?" Carbine gave a grin. "Good thing for us we got lazy Plutarkians. Cut us loose and then me and Throttle will pilot us back toward Mars, if you can stock up the weapons."

"It must be my birthday," said Vinnie reverently, tipping her a wink and pulling a flare out of his bandolier. "Hold still pretty lady."

Carbine stretched her arms out, wrists as wide apart as they would go while hampered by the cuffs, squeezing her eyes shut as Vinnie ignited the flare and used it to cut through the steel and therefore missing the look of hurt that flashed across his face.

The chain and cuffs fell to the floor and Carbine opened her eyes, smiling in relief to have the heavy shackles off. "Thanks hotshot. Now I might actually be able to pilot – oh and get rid of this stupid dress!"

Vinnie tilted his head, grinning. "I dunno – why not lose the combat gear instead? The dress works for me!"

"Then you wear it. You've got the legs for it."

"Babe, drag is _not_ my style!"

"Can you two do this later?" asked Throttle impatiently; still awaiting his own cuffs being removed.

"Oh, sorry bro." Vinnie hurriedly grabbed a second flare and quickly cut through Throttle's bonds.

"Thanks," said Throttle, rubbing his wrists. "Just how many of those flares are there anyway?"

"Couple hundred. Also lasers, grenades and…" Vinnie tried not to grin like a kid at Christmas, but failed miserably. "A bazooka."

"Great," said Carbine, returning her attention to the controls. "Those'll all be useful to the Freedom Fighters when we get back to Mars. Speaking of which…"

"We're halfway to Planet Earth," said Throttle, looking out of the window. "Stoker's not going to be impressed."

Vinnie gestured dismissively. "We're bringing back a spaceship and a ton of firepower. I think he'll forgive us."

"And we found out that Mace is still around and that the Sand Raiders know about the surveillance," added Carbine. "Information we can use in the future."

Vinnie returned to grabbing weapons, emerging once to arm both Throttle and Carbine with lasers and grenades, making them both laugh when they noticed he'd obviously grabbed a few of the more choice weapons for himself, including the flares, two laser guns and a laser pistol too.

"Boys and their toys," said Carbine, laughing as she managed to wrestle the ship around and point it back in the direction of Mars. The day hadn't gone to plan, but at least something good had come of it. There was no reason not to be optimistic…

Until a loud explosion rocked the ship.

Carbine and Throttle were thrown forward into the control panel and for the third time since the flight began, a crash and a yell indicated that Vinnie had been knocked off his feet.

"What the hell…?" Carbine checked the monitors that showed the view around the ship, her heart sinking. There was a Plutarkian Destroyer right behind them and by the look, it was about to open fire on them again.

"They must know this ship's been taken back," said Throttle.

"Vape 'em!" yelled Carbine over her shoulder as she heard Vinnie enter at speed, not daring to take her hands off the controls.

"One fish face barbeque coming up!" Vinnie couldn't keep the glee out of his voice as he raced toward the hatch. For a moment there was a pause in conversation, then Carbine spoke resignedly.

"I daren't look – he's got the bazooka, hasn't he?"

"Oh yeah," confirmed Throttle.

"We can't fly and Vinnie has lots and lots of firepower. We're doomed."

Helmet in place, Vinnie opened the hatch door and leaned out, the bazooka in his hands. At that moment, a second blast hit the cruiser and rocked it, debris dislodged from the hit area and raining around the hatch, a flaming piece of metal knocking the bazooka from Vinnie's hands as the shower forced him to make a hasty dive back into the ship.

"Oh _man_!"

"Vincent, it works better if you shoot _before_ the weapon flies out the door," said Throttle in exasperation.

"Yeah, well… timing is everything."

Throttle winced as the ship was rocked by a third explosion, knocking them close enough to the neighbouring planet that they were caught in its gravitational pull. "So – what are we gonna do?"

"That's easy," replied Carbine grimly as she struggled in vain with the controls. "We're going down!"

Affected by gravity, the stricken ship began falling toward the planet, the atmosphere heating the cruisers exterior red-hot as the three mice tried to calculate how long until they were no longer falling – by which time, they and the ship would be pancaked flat.


	3. Baseball and Bad Guys

Steve Collins slumped into the seat in the stands, chugging morosely on his beer. It had cost him a fortune to buy season tickets for the Chicago Nubs and they were having a piss-poor season. He might as well have saved the money and watched the games in a bar - at least then he wouldn't be paying the extortionate prices for the booze at Quigley Field.

At half time, the Nubs were down, as usual. The fans in the stands opposite were celebrating and the Nubs supporters were looking miserable. Steve was staring into his beer, wondering if he could get a refund on his season tickets when a distant noise made him glance skyward. Around him, the rest of the crowd looked up too, startled exclamations emerging from their mouths.

In the sky above them, what looked like a flaming meteor was speeding toward Quigley Field. Steve realised numbly that it was far too late to run, even if he thought he could fight his way through the masses of spectators. Whatever was about to happen, there was no way to avoid it - he was stuck right there.

And as the meteor blasted down, three shapes detached from it and dropped onto the expanse of field. Less than a second later, the meteor hit the scoreboard, sending up a shower of sparks and flame.

Steve tore his gaze from the wreckage of the scoreboard and realised that the shapes he had seen falling from the meteor were in fact three motorcycles, their riders clad in camouflage and features hidden by their helmets. For a moment the bikes were stationary, then two of them pulled wheelies, the one in the centre accelerating away, the others following a moment later. The bikes sped up three separate sets of stairs in the stand and left his view.

Steve stood up and cheered loudly. "Now that's what I call a fuckin' half time show!"

The guy in front of him was looking puzzled. "Since when did the Nubs put on a half time show?"

"Who cares?" Steve looked back at the still-smoking scoreboard. "This was worth the ticket money!"

As soon as the bikes had cleared the crowds, Carbine screeched to a halt and took in her surroundings, not sure whether to be grateful or to curse their bad luck. They were all alive, thanks to leaping their bikes out of the ship moments before the crash, but she knew next to nothing about the planet Earth where they seemed to have landed. And they had drawn a lot of attention to themselves, something they could have done without.

"We need to get out of this place," she said into her helmet radio. "Meet outside, now."

"On it," replied Throttle.

Carbine waited for a second voice, frowning when she heard nothing. "Vinnie? You there?"

No reply.

Gunning her engine, Carbine took off to see if he was waiting for them outside – perhaps the crash had messed with the radio in his helmet. At least, she_ hoped_ that was the problem. He had seemed fine as they landed in the centre of the field, but that didn't mean he hadn't run into trouble the moment he left her sight. After all, finding trouble seemed to be what he did best.

Outside the stadium, Throttle was already waiting and a moment later, Vinnie sped out of the building and pulled up next to them. Carbine looked over at him, opened her visor and raised an eyebrow. "Vinnie, we just crash landed on an unfamiliar planet in the middle of some kind of public gathering while being chased by an enemy spaceship – and you stopped for _food_?"

Vinnie swallowed the last of his hot dog and gave her a defensive look. "I earned this 'dog' and its hungry work being a hero y'know…"

A bullet whizzed past them and the three turned their heads to see a group of security guards stood at the exit, obviously having realised the bikers were not part of the show.

"Party time!" Vinnie closed his visor and swung his bike in a 180 degree turn on his rear tyre.

"Vinnie, no," said Carbine sharply. "We get out of here, pronto."

"Aw, man…" Vinnie sighed, but took off after Carbine.

Throttle lingered a moment. "Sorry for the interruption citizens!"

The response was distinctly unfriendly and Throttle decided to follow the others and get the hell away from the stadium.

Night was falling as the three headed down the streets, trying to stick to the quietest roads. Carbine tried several times to get some response from the Freedom Fighters, but they were out of reach – by thousands of miles, she reflected gloomily. Stoker would be having a fit.

She was so engrossed with trying to reach Mars on the vid-com that she didn't notice the deterioration of the surroundings for a while. Frustrated by her failure to reach the others, it was only when Throttle began noticeably slowing that she began to pay any attention and pulled up at the side of the road.

"What's wrong?"

"Listen to this." Throttle revved his engine a couple of times and his bike made a clunking, grinding sound. "Sounds like a busted gyro."

Carbine sighed. "Is there anything_ else_ that can go wrong today?"

"No sweat, sweetheart," said Vinnie confidently. "We find us a cycle parts shop and I'll have it fixed pronto!"

"Be serious Vinnie," said Carbine, looking at the buildings around her and frowning uncertainly. "We've been on these streets for miles and I've not seen a repair shop yet."

"Y'know, there's something strangely familiar about this place," said Throttle as he checked out their surroundings. Debris littered the area and not a single one of the buildings seemed to be intact. There were no people anywhere and no signs of life. "And it's not exactly a happy memory – I mean, check it out! Nothing but miles of deep craters and crumbling buildings!"

"It can't be what it looks like," said Carbine, but she didn't sound confident.

"Earth _is_ the next planet in line," said Throttle.

"But the invasion of Mars is still going on. Why would they split their resources like that?"

"Look on the bright side," interrupted Vinnie.

Throttle glanced at him, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "What 'bright side'?"

"_That_ bright side!" Vinnie pointed ahead to a dimly lit building they had previously missed. It seemed in better repair than the others and the light proclaimed it occupied. Even better, the sign above the door proclaimed "Last Chance Garage".

"I'll check it out," announced Vinnie, dismounting his bike and heading toward it.

"Just remember Vinnie," said Carbine before he could take off. "_Low profile_. We don't need any trouble from the locals panicking about alien invasions."

"Looks to me like the aliens have already landed," muttered Throttle.

"Keep your helmet on, get the parts and leave," continued Carbine, ignoring the interruption. "We have to get back to the ship and see if we can do some repairs."

"No problems babe," replied Vinnie, tipping her a wink. "I'll be as quiet as a mouse!"

Carbine sighed and leant over her handlebars. "Tell me when the explosions start so we can go drag him outta there."

_&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&_

Charlene Davidson was plenty scared, but more than that, she was mad as hell.

She had worked hard to set up the Last Chance, sinking every penny she could into the business and setting up in the only area she could, the low priced neighbourhood that had seen better days – better decades, she sometimes reflected. The City had announced about a year previously that a wealthy businessman had purchased large quantities of land in the area in order to beautify it – instead the residents had been chased out, some being paid off and choosing to take the money rather than battle eviction, others finding themselves being swayed by more 'forceful' persuasion.

As one of the few holdouts, Charley was next on the list for the unique brand of influence the friendly local businessman wielded. She'd had her problems before – vandalism, broken windows, petty thefts – but this was the first time she had been approached in such a menacing fashion. As the garage was open late six nights a week, when the vehicles had approached she had assumed she had customers.

Big mistake.

She had looked up with a friendly smile as the 'customers' had entered – and the smile had slipped when she realised these three men didn't seem to have any interest in having their machines fixed. And when they had produced the contract of sale and strongly suggested she signed it there and then, she knew that she had a major problem on her hands.

She just had to hope that their instructions didn't let them go any further than threats, or else she was in big trouble But there was no way she was going to give these guys the satisfaction of showing she was intimidated.

"Tell your slimy boss I don't care how much money he has. The Last Chance Garage is _mine_ and it's _not for sale_!"

The first goon, presumably the guy in charge, stepped closer to her and waved the contract in her face. "Not smart lady. Mr. Limburger wants this land."

"And we're gonna make sure he gets it," added a second goon, braying laughter. The first goon closed in further and Charley backed up, the small of her back hitting the lift. She jumped over it, keeping the machine between her and the goons, but she was under no illusions as to how much protection it would be if they ever stopped playing cat and mouse with her and got serious.  
_  
I'm no mouse_ she reminded herself, glancing behind her and seeing the wrench lying on the side and grabbing it, waving it threateningly. "You've got ten seconds to vacate this place, or – or I'm gonna vacate your face!"

This didn't have the desired affect on the goons, who exchanged looks and burst out laughing. There was genuine hilarity in their voices, which seemed all the more sinister to Charley.

Without warning the third goon, who had so far said nothing, suddenly stopped laughing and ducked around the side of the lift. Charley turned and swung the wrench at him, but he leant back and the weapon passed an inch or so in front of his nose. Charley was rendered off balance and it was a simple matter for the goon to slam his fist onto her wrist, numbing it almost all the way to the elbow and forcing her to release the grip on the wrench.

Quickly, Charley turned and ran from the goon, only to run into one of his accomplices. The goon grabbed her and shoved her hard, slamming her into the wall. She cracked her head painfully, but managed to keep her balance as the lead goon leant his arm on the wall beside her head, waving the contract in her face.

"I think it's time you saw Mister Limburger's generous offer in a new light," he said, smirking at her.

Charley narrowed her eyes, furious. They might have her at a disadvantage but no way was she just handing over the garage. _No way_.

"Shove it!"

"You heard the lady, citizen – leave her alone."

Charley turned her head, blinking. There was someone standing in the doorway of the garage, leaning nonchalantly against the frame. A bike helmet obscured his features, but the body was definitely male, muscular and toned – but there was something odd about him too. The furry shirt he was wearing for example.

The goon in front of her smirked. "And who's gonna make me?"

"Who's gonna make me? _I'm_ gonna make ya!" The amusement was clear in the biker's voice – and so was the seriousness of the statement.

The head goon didn't move from in front of Charley, merely indicated to the other two with his free hand. "Take care of that guy."

The two goons advanced on the biker and the lead goon turned back to Charley, grinning. "Looks like your rescue just went…"

"South?" asked Charley sweetly, raising her knee and connecting squarely with his balls. The goon went cross-eyed and sank to the floor, cradling his wounded sack. Charley stepped over him and gazed at the scene unfolding before her in disbelief.

The two goons had pulled out guns and begun shooting at the mystery biker. To Charley, the guns were weirdly futuristic laser types. But they didn't faze the biker in the slightest, who dived across the floor out of their way.

A laser took out one of the windows and Charley winced. Still, better the window than her, or the mysterious man who had intervened.

The biker rolled across the floor and ended up on his back, somehow producing a gun in each hand. She hit the floor as the biker opened fire, the goons crashing down too as lasers rained around them. The biker scrambled to his feet and took aim at the goons again – and then there was a crash from another window and two more bikers smashed their way in.

Charley didn't know whether to hold her head and groan about the damage or goggle at the sight. One of the new bikers was another guy, wearing one of those furry vests. The second was female, dressed from head to foot in camouflage and a helmet covering her face – and what looked like a metal tail.  
_  
Great,_ thought Charley wearily. _I need help and my rescuers turn out to be furries._

"Vinnie, what part of low profile didn't you understand?" asked the woman, whipping the metal tail around and wrapping it around the throat of one of the thugs, pulling him from his feet and sending him flying.

"Sweetheart, it's just your usual hero rescue stuff!" The first biker shrugged and blasted at the remaining goon standing, sending him on the run. "But if ya wanna join the party…"

"Can't let you have all the fun," replied the third biker, reaching out and grabbing the running goon by the collar. "Hey, who sent you?"

"L-Lawrence Limburger," stammered the goon nervously. "He wants this land…"

"Yeah?" The biker yanked the goon closer and got in his face. "Well, tell this Limburger that the Biker Mice from Mars are in town – and the party's _over_. Got that?"

Abruptly he released the goon and the man took two awkward steps backwards, almost falling. "You're – what the hell are you? Some kinda rat?"

"Something like that." The biker removed his helmet and Charley gasped, nearly running off. The Biker wasn't human.

The goon fled and the bikers watched him with varying states of amusement.

The girl took off her helmet and shook her long hair out around her ears. "Low profile guys. Low profile."

"We don't do low profile well." The biker with no helmet turned to Charley and smiled. "You okay ma'am?"

Her mind racing, Charley grabbed the wrench she had dropped previously. "Don't you come near me you – you…"

"Don't break a nail; we just came to get my bike fixed."

"Talk about no appreciation." The first biker removed his helmet, showing that he too wasn't human and on top of that, half of his face was covered in a metal plate. Charley began to feel dizzy.

"I don't believe this." Charley let the wrench drop slightly, staring in wonder at the strangers. "I've just been saved by a bunch of giant – gerbils?"

"Mice." The girl rolled her eyes, her steel tail whipping agitatedly. "We're mice."

"Mice." Charley laughed in disbelief. "With antennae's and biker clothes and motorcycles and… and…"

"Don't forget your basic studly bod," said the first biker, the light glinting from the metal on his face.

Charley bristled. "I've seen better."

"Maybe. But not with this much charm!"

"Vinnie," said the girl wearily. "Do you always have to do this? Women are not some weird alien species – okay, _this_ one is a weird alien species – but you can treat them normally!"

"I'm not an alien!" Charley glared at the woman for a moment, but curiosity got the better of her. "Where on Earth did you guys come from anyway?"

"Mars," said Carbine nonchalantly.

"MARS!!"

"Mars," agreed Throttle.

"MARS!!"

"Is there an echo in here?" The mouse with the metal plate – Vinnie? – smirked."I don't think she likes our answers," said the girl, leaning against the wall. "Think we'll have to go through this every time we meet a human? Because it's getting old already."

"Mars." Charley laughed in disbelief. "Right. I don't believe this. You guys better explain yourselves."

Throttle sighed and began to tell her their story, using his antennae to relay a visual. About the war, the Plutarkians, the Freedom fighters. He left out some of the more personal details – their families and friends, the refuge camps, the missing and the dead. He figured she could probably read between the lines about that.

"Carbine here lost her tail to the cause," he continued. Charley glanced over to the female mouse against the wall, who inclined her head slightly and wrapped the metal tail protectively around the waist of the white mouse.  
_  
Message received_ thought Charley irritably.

"And Vinnie got half his face taken off – that's why he wears the mask."

"Yeah," said Vinnie, putting his arm casually over Carbine's shoulders and grinning at her. "But that's okay, because what's left is definitely grade-A mouse material."

Carbine rolled her eyes, but didn't extract herself. "And your ego remained intact of course."

"Do you two have to do that now?" asked Throttle wearily.

Frowning, her mind still trying to reject what her eyes were telling her, Charley walked over to the garage door and hit the button to raise it. "The way you guys describe what these, uh, Plutarkians did to your planet – I think you ought to check something out."

The three mice looked out over the neighbourhood as the door rose, seeing the same industrial debris as they had on their arrival – and something they hadn't seen from their parking point. Plutarkian digging equipment.

"From the looks of things, I'd say – _they're here_!"Charley bit her lip and contemplated the new information she had. If there really were Plutarkians at work on Earth, then who was going to stop them – and who was going to save her garage if it was next on the list?

Carbine palmed her face. "This day just gets better and better."

There was silence for a moment, then Vinnie sighed. "I'll fix Throttle's bike, maybe we can do something about the stink-fish before we head back to Mars."

"Assuming the ship can be repaired," added Throttle gloomily.

"Oh no." Charley glared at them. "I'm the mechanic and it's my garage, which means _I'll _take a look at the bike. _All _the bikes, make sure nothing else got damaged when you crashed."

"And what are _we _gonna do?" asked Throttle.

"_You_ can board up the windows that got busted!" Charley turned and went back inside while the three mice exchanged looks, shrugged and went out to get their bikes.

"Man," said Vinnie as they grabbed their bikes. "Earth girls are _pushy_!"


	4. Riding Into Trouble

**Author Note: **I apologise for the long wait for this chapter, unfortunately Real Life got in the way. Hope you enjoy this next chapter and I promise to be more on the ball in the future!

**&!&!&!&!&**

"So, who's this guy Limburger?" asked Carbine, leaning against the wall as Charley worked on her bike. Behind her, Vinnie and Throttle were scarfing down hot dogs, after Vinnie had gone to a nearby vendor to pick up something to eat. Carbine had enjoyed the food as much as they did - after the K-rations anything tasted good - but watching the two of them eat had made her lose her appetite. They were enjoying the junk food _way_ too much.

Charley tightened a nut on the tyre, pausing before replying. The other two mice seemed  
friendly enough, but Carbine was stand-offish and intense, which unnerved her slightly. "First heard of him about a year ago. He's been buying up land around Chicago, supposedly to do some urban restoration. But things around here are more demolished than restored. He's been after the Last Chance for a while, but he never sent a mob around before. Usually he just offers money."

"You don't want to sell?"

"The Last Chance is_ mine_," replied Charley determinedly. "I wouldn't give this place up for ten times what he offered!"

Looking up, Charley saw a smile play across the mouse's face. Obviously the attitude impressed her. But then reasoned Charley, she was a soldier in a war to save her planet - it was doubtful she'd have time for quitters.

From across the room came a loud belch - Throttle, showing off. A second or two later, a second even louder belch sounded, this time Vinnie. Charley grimaced. "I guess men are  
the same no matter what planet they're from."

"Unfortunately," said Carbine looking resigned and Charley grinned. Carbine grinned back and Charley wondered if she might have broken through the Freedom Fighters hostile exterior.

"You and Vinnie are an item I noticed," she said conversationally and immediately the smile was wiped from Carbine's face, replaced by a look of suspicion. Obviously, where Vinnie was concerned, Carbine had a jealous streak a mile long.

"Yeah, we are," said Carbine in an overly casual voice. "Been together a long time."

"That's great," said Charley, wanting to ask more but put off by Carbine's attitude. "Hey, maybe I can give you a hand repairing your ship too - I'm pretty good with a wrench." She smiled to show the joke, spinning the wrench around in her hand.

"Maybe you can." Carbine leant against the wall and took a sip of the root beer in her hand. "But we crashed pretty hard. Might take a long while."

"Time I've got," said Charley ruefully. "Since the neighbourhood was torn up, business has been kinda slow."

"And while we're here, we can take a look at this Limburger clown, see what his game is." Carbine scowled. "I've got a bad feeling about him."

"You and me both." Charley straightened up and stretched. "Bikes are ready."

Throttle and Vinnie headed over and Throttle revved his engine, listening for the gyro. "Not bad. You're a pretty good bike jockey."

"Best in Chi-town," said Charley with a smile. "By the way, your weapons looked like they could use a little improvement, so I put in a few extras."

"Extras? Like what?" Vinnie noticed a new button on his dash and pressed it. Immediately, two missiles shot out of the front and blew a hole in the garage door.

"Like that," said Charley with a sigh.

Vinnie didn't even notice Charley's annoyance over the door. "Oooh! I like it sweetheart, I like it!"

Carbine jumped on her bike, putting on her helmet and ignoring Vinnie's words. "Since we're back in business, what say we check out this Limburger character?"

"Teach him it's not nice to threaten innocent people," added Throttle with a smirk.

"Aaooww!" Vinnie revved his engine and Charley had a sudden horrible premonition, heading for the door control and raising it just as the three mice sped out.

"Now I know why mice live in caves," she muttered to herself, grabbing the missiles left outside before they could be found and contemplating the ruins of her door. If they _did_ have to stay on Earth for an extended period, she was going to have to get better insurance.

Meanwhile, the three mice headed for Limburger Towers. It was hard to miss. The vast structure stood out against the other buildings, the immaculate architecture and majestic grounds of the place a stark contrast to the devastation around the Last Chance.

"Battle Mode bros," said Carbine.

"Let's rock the walls off this joint," added Throttle.

The mice rode straight at the tower and directly up the walls, planning to enter via the roof. But before they had got half-way up, several canons emerged from the walls and opened fire.

"I don't think Limburger's exactly happy to see us," commented Vinnie as the mice evaded the shots. A moment later, they landed on the roof and paused for a moment.

A moment was all it took for a group of hired hands to emerge on dune buggies and start blasting at the mice. Unfortunately for them, the Biker Mice had faced worse odds against better fighters than them and made short work of the goons.

All three mice hit buttons on their bikes, ejecting ropes and grabbing the ends, leapt from the building and crashed through the top window. In the office inside was a frightened looking and extremely obese man in a loud purple suit, cringing away from the broken glass.

"It's _so_ hard to get good help these days," commented Vinnie in a mock-sympathetic voice.

"I know, I know," replied the man mournfully. It seemed likely, given Charley's description, that the man was the infamous Limburger.

Throttle stepped forward, scenting the air. "Hey… I smell _Plutarkian_!"

Whipping his tail up, he grabbed Limburger by the hair. The mans face stretched and pulled from his head, revealing it to be a mask – and beneath, a Plutarkian.

"Oh – you could tell?" Limburger seemed suspiciously unworried by the revelation. "I must have the air conditioning repaired at once."

Carbine opened her mouth to make a comment, then paused as the floor opened up in the corner. Slowly, the lift rose to reveal a familiar figure.

"Karbunkle," snarled Vinnie, clenching his fists.

"Yes, my dear boy. Karbunkle smirked at the enraged mice. "How very nice of you to remember."

"I remember," Vinnie growled, taking his gun from his belt and advancing on the Doctor, but was distracted as another part of the floor opened up, the whirring noises suggesting another lift rising.

"Not more of those idiots from the roof," said Throttle, shaking his head in mock dismay. "I got news for ya – they're not exactly stopping us so far."

Karbunkle cackled. "Trust me, this – gentleman is far better armed than they were."

Throttle raised his own gun, but hesitated as the figure rose through the floor.

"Modo?"

The grey mouse glared at them through the visor of his helmet, sat in the saddle of a bike that was nothing like the one he had ridden on Mars, before the invasion. Clearly not a Martian creation it was turquoise, evil looking spikes from the centre of the wheels and a huge canon on the front. The bike was larger than those the other mice rode, heavier looking, but a small burst of flame from the exhaust as he gunned the engine suggested that it could still do some speed.

"Oh _man_," said Vinnie in dismay, training his own gun on Karbunkle. "Whatever you've done to make Modo like this, reverse it."

"_Now_," added Throttle menacingly.

"Why would I want to do that?" asked Karbunkle with a smirk. "Now my Martian Masterpiece – get them!"

In response, Modo raised both of his mechanical arms and opened fire. The other three mice ducked out of the way and hit the floor.

"Be careful!" shouted Limburger from behind his desk. "Those windows are expensive!"

Throttle whistled loudly, the sound audible even over the sounds of gunfire, before scrambling up and heading for the broken window, dodging shots, followed by Vinnie and Carbine. The three leapt out of the window and their bikes met them on the way down, giving them the chance to grab the handlebars and swing into the saddle.

Modo stopped firing, lowering his arms as the mice escaped. Limburger shot out from behind his desk. "Why have you stopped? Exterminate them! Eliminate them! After them!"

Modo rode forward at top speed, leaping from the window the Biker Mice had just left by and slamming to the ground several storey's below.

"At least now we know why we could never find Modo on Mars," said Vinnie.

Carbine took a look over her shoulder. "Um – he's gaining on us."

"If we can lure him away from Limburger Tower…" began Throttle.

"We can what? Bum a quarter off a passer by and use it to hypnotise him back into the guy he was?" Carbine scowled, the sarcasm dripping from her words. "We need a plan. We gotta lose him, then rethink this."

"Easier said than – whoa!" Vinnie swerved as he saw a missile heading his way in the wing mirror. It exploded on the road behind him.

"We're gonna attract too much attention," said Throttle worriedly.

"Split up," ordered Carbine. "Meet up at the Last Chance. He can only follow one of us."

Carbine continued to plough straight ahead, while Throttle took a left and Vinnie a right. A moment later, Modo sent another missile after Carbine, which she avoided easily, blasted his arm canon in Throttle's direction, forcing the mouse to swerve onto the wrong side of the road and jump a parked car, before riding off after Vinnie.

Vinnie glanced in his wing mirror and smirked. "Sorry Big Guy, but I can outride you - on this planet or any other!"

Pressing a button on his dash, he shot a stream of oil from the rear of his bike. Unable to avoid it, Modo rode into it and skidded sideways for several feet, somehow managing to avoid losing his bike, then righting himself at the end of the oil stream and carrying on after Vinnie.

"Oh man," muttered Vinnie. "Trust Modo to pull out a killer brody!"

Modo raised his right arm and started blasting after Vinnie, forcing him to weave around the shots. Ahead of him, Vinnie spied a large industrial plant, the doors wide open and Vinnie rode inside, checking the interior for anything that could aid his escape without any real harm coming to Modo – then he saw an enormous vat of some kind of boiling contents and grinned.

Putting on an extra burst of speed, he hit a ramp leading up to the vat and rode up, leaping as he reached the top. The heat from the fumes coming from the vat began clouding his vision and he blinked irritably, hoping that he'd timed the stunt just right….

With a crash, he smashed through the window at the opposite side of the vat, landing on the floor outside the warehouse and screeching off down the road. Keeping an eye on the mirror, he headed away from the Last Chance until he was satisfied that Modo hadn't been able to follow. Then he took the road back to the garage, already trying to come up with some way in which they could break Karbunkle's hold on the mouse.

In the warehouse, Modo hadn't even tried to leap the vat – on his much heavier bike and with his added weight, it would have been suicide. Instead he pulled up at the top of the ramp and stared impassively at the window where Vinnie had smashed his way out.

"You! Hey, you!"

Modo turned his head slowly, regarding the man in the hard hat shouting at him from the foot of the ramp.

"What the hell do you think you're doing? What is this crap? You can't just come busting in here! Who's gonna pay for that window?"

Ignoring him, Modo rode back down the ramp and out of the building, the foreman squawking as he tried to give chase, the rest of the workers staring in disbelief.

At the Last Chance, Carbine paced anxiously and Throttle sat on his bike seat, a frown creasing his face. Charley had decided it would be best to remain quiet until there was some news of their friend.

When Vinnie rode through the door, Carbine was at his side before he even stopped the engine. "Are you hurt?"

"Nope," said Vinnie, removing his helmet, the usual cheerful look absent. "Lost him. I just don't believe it – anyone else we could have just taken out, but Modo…"

Charley folded her arms. "Who's Modo?"

Throttle sighed. "Back on Mars, before the war, Vinnie and me used to hang out with a mouse called Modo. Biggest mouse I ever saw, tough as nails, but he had a heart of gold – soft touch y'know? When the war first broke out, Modo got his family away from their place, but his dad wouldn't go. They both went missing. We kinda… assumed the worst."

"Then a few years later, Modo turns up again, modified into some super-soldier and fighting on the side of the stink-fish."

Charley bit her lip. "Maybe he – volunteered?"

"No," said Vinnie, his voice low but firm. "Modo would never sell out. No matter what they offered – or what they did."

Carbine flicked her tail against the floor. "Why did he go after Vinnie?"

Throttle glanced over at her. "What do you mean?"

"He could see we were getting away from him rather than fighting and he knows Vinnie. He had to know Vinnie had a better chance of getting away faster than one of us two."

Vinnie didn't even comment on this admission of his speed. Charley may not have known them for more than a few hours, but she realised that this omission meant Vinnie had something major on his mind.

But Throttle suddenly wore a look of hope. "We know that Modo still has the same ability to reason – so he should have guessed that."

Vinnie jumped off his bike. "You mean, Modo might be fighting the mind control?"

"Remember when he caught Primer back on Mars? I think at least unconsciously, a part of him is fighting it."

Carbine shook her head slowly. "But he never met me before the war – if he was acting out of some sense of brotherhood, he'd come after me, not Vinnie."

"No, he wouldn't!" Throttle pounded his palm with his fist. "Because you're a woman!"

"And _what_ a woman!" grinned Vinnie, good humour obviously restored.

Carbine gave them both icy glares. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Modo would never hurt a lady," said Vinnie. "His mamma would whup him good!"

"He'd rather go after us than risk hurting you," said Throttle, seeing Carbine's expression and deciding it might be wise to placate her. "He doesn't know that you can handle yourself."

"So Modo wants away from the Plutarkians," said Vinnie. "Man, I knew the Big Guy wouldn't turn his back on the Mice!"

"One problem," said Carbine. "What exactly are we going to do about it?"

The jubilant mood dampened slightly as the four contemplated this. Vinnie's hand rose and he unconsciously touched his mask. "Karbunkle said the mind control chips were planted under the skin. So we'd have to get him to a surgeon or something."

Charley frowned. "I'm sorry guys, but I don't think there are many doctors on Earth who'd be willing to do an op like that – and I don't know a vet who can keep his mouth shut."

"Then we'd have to subdue him and get him back to Mars," added Throttle.

Silence reigned in the garage for a while, then Carbine straightened up, picking up her helmet. "Well, as long as we need to get him back to Mars, we'd better check out the spaceship. Come on guys, might as well see how bad it is. Coming Charley?"

Mildly surprised to be included, Charley nodded and went for her own bike, kept in the corner of the garage.

**&!&!&!&!&!&!&**

"ESCAPED!?"

Limburger slammed his fists against the desk, glaring at Modo. Modo looked back, unintimidated.

"How could this have happened?" Limburger fell back into his seat, scowling furiously. "First on Mars and now here – why is it that those infernally infuriating rodents always manage to foil my plans? Why could you not maul those mice? What went so ridiculously awry?"

"They split up," replied Modo in a voice without inflection. "I could only follow one and he escaped."

Even in his anger, Limburger could see the logic in this. "Damn! I can't even get _one_ mouse moving into Chicago – it had to be _three_! There'd be far more chance of defeating them if they were alone…"

He stopped, his eyes lighting up as he came up with an idea. "My dear muscle-bound mouse, I believe your infuriating failure has shown me the fatal flaw in the Biker Mice family – and given me some fortuitous thoughts!"

Modo's bionic eyes gleamed briefly, but the mouse himself merely nodded as Limburger headed down for Karbunkle's lab.

At Quigley Field, the three mice gazed up at the scoreboard. The spaceship still hung out of it, looking decidedly worse than they had hoped.

"It's gonna take a long time to mend that mangled mess of metal," said Throttle gloomily.

The ship picked that moment to fall further off balance. With a tortured screech of metal, the ship fell totally inside the scoreboard, a crashing sound indicating further damage.

Throttle sagged over the handlebars of his bike. "Typical. Just great."

Carbine removed her helmet and rubbed her forehead wearily. "How are we supposed to get back to Mars with the ship in that state?"

The mice lapsed into a dejected silence and Charley decided to try to improve on things. "Well… if you're stuck here on Earth, this place will make as good a hideout as any!"

"What, _here_? In the _scoreboard_?" Throttle laughed derisively.

Charley bristled slightly. "Why not? Limburger would never think to look for you there!"

The mice exchanged looks and shrugged. "I guess we could check it out," said  
Carbine.

Vinnie grinned widely. "Now that we've got the bachelor pad thing sorted out…"

Carbine shot him a look.

"Um, our first place together and a lodger?"

"Gee thanks," said Throttle wryly.

Vinnie sighed, defeated. "Now that we've got somewhere to stay – that satisfy everyone? Whaddya say we grab a little chow?"


	5. Divided

Carbine dragged a tangle of burned-out wires from the ships console and regarded them with a sigh. "I haven't got a clue what the hell any of these do."

Charley looked over her shoulder and shook her head. "Bikes are my thing - intergalactic spacecraft are a bit beyond me."

Carbine dropped the wires and sighed in frustration. Charley gave her a wary sideways glance. In the week the mice had been on Earth, Carbine had proved to be the mouse she really didn't know how to handle. Vinnie's ego could be slightly deflated with a timely put-down, but the boy was like rubber and always bounced back. Throttle was quieter than his white-furred bro but still managed to be boisterous, if somewhat more considerate than Vinnie. But Carbine veered between distant, optimistic and mildly hostile. Charley just didn't know where she stood with the woman.

Although she had a feeling that the hostility might be more territorial than anything.

As soon as she thought it, Vinnie poked his head through the hatch, a welding torch in one hand and a grin plastered on his face. "Watch yourselves ladies - I'm gonna be doing some bodywork!"

"Oh no!" Charley raced over and snatched the welding torch from his hands. "No way am I letting you loose with this - the ship would end up a big pile of melted metal!"

"Awww, sweetheart..."

"Save it." Charley didn't turn around, but she was aware of Carbine's eyes burning into the back of her neck. Grabbing the torch, she pushed past Vinnie and made a hasty exit.

Vinnie shrugged and turned a dazzling grin on Carbine. "Well… maybe I can do some 'bodywork' in here instead…?"

Carbine scowled. "This isn't the time Vinnie."

"Babe," began Vinnie confidently, then took a look at her expression and grew serious. "We'll get the ship repaired somehow."

"How?" Carbine gestured broadly to the ship around them. "None of us know the first thing about fixing it. I don't know how you can be so – cheerful about it!"

"Hey, if we're stuck here, we're stuck here and we might as well make the best of it," snapped Vinnie. "It's hard enough trying to fix the ship without you being _pissy_ about it!"

For a moment they glared at each other, then Carbine shrugged. "I know. I'm just – angry about being trapped away from Mars when the others are fighting. Sorry."

"It's cool," said Vinnie. "You can make it up to me later…"

"Vinnie," said Carbine, sighing yet trying not to smile. "Can we get on with fixing the ship?"

"Story of my life," said Vinnie ruefully. "No appreciation!"

Throttle approached Charley as she welded, repairing some of the damage to the ships exterior. "How are the repairs going?"

Charley shut off the torch. "Bad. We can get the ship fixed outside – that's not a problem. But the wiring's shot. I don't think we're gonna be able to do anything with it. Carbine's pretty steamed about it."

"I can imagine," said Throttle wryly. "Can you think of anywhere we could find information on this sort of thing?"

"I could find a couple of websites, but…"

Vinnie chose that moment to swing out of the ship. "Hey bro, crank up the music! This song rocks!"

"Don't you think it's loud enough?" asked Charley, far too late. Throttle had already headed over to the radio and turned up the dial full blast.

"Trust me, it only gets worse," said Carbine, putting her own head out of the ship as Vinnie and Throttle joined in with the singer.

"I see what you mean," said Charley, covering her ears.

"You just need to learn some appreciation…" began Vinnie.

The song cut off prematurely and the DJ cut in. "Whoa! We interrupt this rockin set to bring you a bummer news flash, buddies! The Big Cheese, Lawrence Limburger, has just announced his plans to clear-cut the Limburger Wildlife Pres-er-erve! Looks like wipeout time for our furry friends in the forest! Later bros!"

The next song began, but the mice barely noticed. Vinnie pounded a fist into his palm. "Now that really stinks!"

"Yeah, just like Limburger," muttered Throttle, turning down the radio.

Charley shrugged. "This is pretty typical Limburger stuff – buying up land and then 'renovating'. It's what happened around here. Usually you don't hear about it unless it's something that'll make him look good in the public eye – no one ever reports what happens around the Last Chance. No mention of craters and diggers, just stuff about plans for renovation." This last said with uncharacteristic bitterness.

Carbine leapt out of the ship. "Let's get down there, show that stinking Plutarkian he can't just go around wiping out the habitat for hundreds of animals!"

"Yeah, no one wipes out furry friends when we're around," added Vinnie. "Let's go cream his cheese!"

"Count me in!" said Charley enthusiastically, the smile fading from her face as she realised the mice were giving her odd looks. "What?"

"The thing is Charley-girl," began Throttle hesitantly. "There's probably going to be a fight – and we wouldn't want you caught in the middle."

"I can look after myself," retorted Charley.

"Sweetheart, this is macho guy stuff!" announced Vinnie. Carbine gave him a glacial look and Vinnie tried for an apologetic smile. "Um, I mean, it's more for, uh, you haven't been involved in anything like this and, uh…"

"Come along," said Carbine, jerking her head at Charley, "But stay outta the way."

Charley sketched off a salute, mildly surprised by this show of support – perhaps Carbine was subtly railing against the macho bullshit she probably put up with on a daily basis while hanging around with two men.

_Bless your big mouth Vinnie! _

The foursome headed out to the wildlife preserve, sticking to the main roads. Charley was mildly surprised by how little attention they drew; suspecting that the other motorists thought the fur was some kind of biker outfit. Of course, with the helmets in place and usually some speed separating the mice from their observers, it was likely that few people got a good enough look to wonder. She had noticed while they were in the same room as her, not while doing sixty down the road thinking about her destination.

The four arrived at the wildlife park and rode in, looking for a fight – but there was a distinct lack of any activity that would suggest there were Plutarkians in the area.

"You know bros, something seems to be wrong here," said Throttle, looking around and still seeing nothing amiss.

"Yeah," said Vinnie. "If Limburger was gonna cut this place down, you think he would have started by now."

"Maybe he had a change of heart," Charley offered.

Carbine snorted, bringing her bike to a stop. "He doesn't have a heart. I think it's something else."

Throttle pulled up beside her. "Like a trap?"

Carbine nodded – but before she could answer, she became conscious of a red light bathing the four of them. Looking up, all of them could see something flying over their heads, the height and the glare from the sun making it impossible to say what.

"Whoa," said Throttle, trying to shade his eyes and see better. "Something ugly just flew by."

"What, like your face?" sneered Vinnie.

"Nah, like your _girl's_."

Vinnie snarled, eyes narrowing dangerously. But before he could do anything, Carbine cut in. "Screw you Throttle."

"That's right!" Throttle threw both hands up in the air in disgust. "Let her do your fighting for you. You've gone soft Vinnie, can't even stand up for yourself without super-bitch getting involved…"

Vinnie grabbed Throttle by his vest and yanked him forward, almost dragging him right off his bike. "I don't need some babe fighting for me – let's end it, right now!"

"Shut up!" yelled Charley. "You're bugging me!"

"Well, _excuuuuuse_ us!" Carbine whipped her head around to Charley and glared. "I've had about _enough_ of you tagging along all the time!"

"I've been trying to help you out, you ungrateful cow!" Charley roared back.

"You did a shitty job!" Carbine snapped back.

"Hey, since you three just crashed into my garage and almost _destroyed_ the place, life's not been exactly easy and all you do is piss and moan!"

"You wouldn't even have that garage if we hadn't 'crashed in'," growled Carbine. "And didn't you get _plenty_ out of it."

Charley narrowed her eyes, her voice dangerously low. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"You've been eyeballing _my_ mouse since we arrived here!"

"And since when did I become your property?" Vinnie shoved Throttle away and rounded on Carbine.

"Oh come on," said Carbine, her mouth curling into a sneer. "You'd be nothing in the Freedom Fighters without me!"

Throttle started laughing derisively.

"Nothing?" Vinnie looked ready to explode. "Listen _babe_, you're a grouchy, jealous control freak and you've been doing nothing but hold me back!"

"So why don't you take your temper tantrums somewhere else? I'm sick of you always spouting off!"

"Oh yeah?" Vinnie gunned his engine, shooting Carbine a look of pure fury. "Well, I'm _sick_ of you always ordering me around! _And_ your crappy moods _and_ your bitching! I'm outta here – and you and me are_ finished_!"

"_Good riddance!"_ Carbine shrieked after him as he rode away at top speed.

"Well done Carbine," spat Throttle. "Super-bitch strikes again!"

"Oh, and you weren't thinking of knocking his head off a minute ago," she yelled back. "Y'know, the whole reason we're stuck on this crummy planet is because of _you_!"

"Well sister, you can just stay stuck on this crummy planet on your own! I can get by just fine without the bro _or _the ho!"

Throttle kicked his own bike into gear and rode off, tearing up the grass on the preserve.

"And you," snarled Carbine, turning to Charley.

"Don't start on me," Charley snapped back. "I don't_ need_ your shit! And don't come running to me the next time you need bike parts!"

"I wouldn't come running to you if my head were on fire," growled Carbine. "I don't need you – _any_ of you! I can make it back to Mars on my own!" And with that, she skidded in a 180 and headed off back to the scoreboard.

Charley flipped the bird after her retreating figure, other fist clenched. Too tense to ride right away, she got off her bike and kicked a tree, grimacing as she hurt her toe. _Who does that snooty bitch think she is? _She thought to herself, wondering if the satisfaction of taking her anger out on the tree was worth a broken toe_. Like I'd go near her egomaniac boyfriend. And Throttle's just as bad, starting this whole argument – wish Limburger would just cut this whole dump down and get on with it, that'd show 'em…_

And then she began to feel mildly dizzy, putting a hand to her forehead and wondering where those thoughts had come from. Her anger seemed to collapse into a mess of confusion, irritation and hurt feelings.

_Well, they were saying mean things about me too_, she thought childishly, trying to justify herself, but suddenly not feeling certain of anything anymore, let alone how she felt.

"_I'm gonna catch you little Pukes!" _

Startled, Charley withdrew behind the tree and watched as three of the strangest looking creatures she had ever seen raced past her. The one bringing up the rear was obviously chasing the others, one huge red eye glowing dangerously.

"Evil Eye's right on us!" yelled one of the chased in alarm. "Head for Limburger tower!"

Charley narrowed her eyes as she watched the three race away from the preserve. The four of them had been lured out because of something Limburger had planned – and hadn't the mice suspected something just before they fell to arguing?

"I should have known – when something stinks, you can bet Limburger's at the bottom of it."

She emerged from behind the tree and ran for her bike, gunning the engine. Limburger had to have done something to them all – and she had to find the others before things got any worse. Deep down, she was still injured by what they had said to her – and that she had actually mouthed equally venomous words herself was also upsetting to her.

She shoved her offence and guilt to the back of her mind. There was time enough for that later on, to resolve things – and the effects of whatever Limburger, or at least the strange little men she had seen, had used on them. Perhaps they could resolve things without getting into another fight. The only thing she could do was hope. She sped out of the park and headed for Quigley Field.

Meanwhile, Vinnie had let off some steam by racing through the streets, ignoring the rules of the road completely, trusting his instincts to avoid collisions. He swerved around the traffic, leaping on top of a nearby van and pausing.

"I'm still the baddest mammajammer on six planets! I'm _Vinnie_! Vinnie the _awesome_! Who needs Carbine and Throttle? After what they said to me, hey, _forget it_! Who needs 'em?"

Two hatches opened from the truck and steel clamps emerged, grabbing his bike by the wheels. "Well mouse, I'd say right now – you do."

Throttle was riding down the road, screaming at an ice cream truck that was in his way – and then his anger dissipated, leaving him mildly confused. "Whoa… what happened?"

And then he saw the truck bearing down on him. The ice cream van cut him off from the front, the truck was about to flatten him – he did the only thing he could, which was pull his bike into a wheelie and go to leap off the side of the road…

Too late. The truck hit his back wheel and knocked him off the bike, which was sent skidding into the back of the ice cream van.

The driver stopped the van and got out, frowning worriedly at the biker who lay prone on the road. The driver of the truck also got out, along with two friends. "I'll get this boy to a hospital, get him checked out. And I'll take the bike too."

The driver of the ice cream van noticed that the three men were strange looking, humanoid but somehow not what he'd expect – but he didn't want to get into any trouble for the accident. If anyone knew he'd been reading a map instead of watching the road, it could cost him his licence.

So he let the men take the biker away.

Carbine had headed back to the scoreboard, determined that she would fix the ship on her own. Vinnie and Throttle could just damn well stay on Earth if that was what they wanted, hang out with their bimbette buddy as long as they liked. She was going back to Mars and rejoining the fight.

She yanked at some wires, trying to work out exactly how they were supposed to go, still fuming. Throttle calling her names paled in insignificance next to the things that Vinnie had said. Vinnie, who was supposed to support her and care about her….

Her anger seemed to deflate suddenly and she started feeling miserable instead._ I said some things to him too – why did I say them? I didn't mean any of it! And accusing Charley of having a thing for him too, when she's been trying to help. It's Vinnie flirting with her and that's just the way he is_.

The wiring suddenly didn't seem so important. She sat on the floor beside the control panel and ran her hand through her hair, thinking things over. Maybe it wasn't too late to make things up to them. They had all said some ugly things, but they were _bros_ – they should be able to get over it.

And then she heard a motorbike engine pulling up nearby and allowed herself a small smile. Only one engine, but it was a start. Maybe it was better for them all to resolve their differences one on one for the moment.

"Is anyone here?"

Carbine frowned. "Charley?"

She put her head out of the scoreboard and stared at the mechanic warily. Charley looked back at her as they both recalled the harsh words they had already exchanged. Charley cleared her throat nervously. "I've been looking for you – something's happened."

"Yeah?" Carbine's voice dripped sarcasm and she forced herself to adjust her tone. "Um, what?"

"Limburger's hired a new villain called Evil Eye…"

"_Evil Eye Weevil_?"

"You've heard of him?"

"He had a stunt show on Mars for a while – my parents took me to see him. Crashed more than he stayed on the bike." Carbine laughed, but there was a bitter undertone to it. "He's also got a hostility ray. Oh yeah, that would explain a _whole_ lot."

"I know I didn't feel right," said Charley slowly. "It was like – I just wanted to kill everyone. I looked at you guys and hated you all, then it seemed to leave and I didn't know what I'd done."

"Me too." Carbine headed over to her bike, Charley following. "Let's see if we can find the others. I can track their bikes with mine. If I explain what happened…"

"Think they'll be over the effects of the ray?"

"Throttle probably will, he's pretty level headed and it takes a lot to get him angry. Vinnie on the other hand – he's a hothead and when his feelings are hurt he can stay in a bad mood for a long time…" Carbine trailed off, staring into space.

Charley looked at the floor. "Look, it might be a good idea to clear the air between us before we deal with the others. Because there's a grain of truth in what everyone said, right?"

Carbine shrugged. "I guess. And we probably have messed up your life, crashing into your garage outta nowhere and dragging you into the middle of our war. You probably _should_ be mad."

"I'm not," replied Charley firmly. "It's a shock – I never even believed in life on other planets and then I find myself hanging out with three Martians. But now I know what I'm up against fighting for the garage, and for the first time in a long time, I have someone around I can call my friends. And I always wanted an exciting life."

Carbine gave a small laugh.

"And I'm _not_ chasing your mouse," added Charley. "I like Vinnie – he's funny and cool and obviously very loyal to both of you. But I'm not after him in the romantic sense. And I know he's not after me, even if he is suggestive all the time."

"I know," muttered Carbine. "It's just how he is."

"So, nothing to worry about, right?"

Carbine sighed. "We've been through so much together – but we're also totally different. Complete opposites. I guess I sometimes wonder if he'd prefer someone less – I don't know, boring."

"Boring?" Charley laughed. "Girl, you're a soldier in the resistance, one of the central figures in the Freedom Fighters, totally unpredictable and you can be pretty cool yourself when you're not in a bad mood. Plus you're tough and you can run rings around that boy. Just looking at the two of you, anyone can see how close you are. I doubt he thinks you're boring."

Grinning, Carbine inclined her head. "Well, I'm not flashy or anything, but I guess you have a point."

"How did you two meet anyway?"

"I tried to kill him."

"There, what did I tell you? Unpredictable!"

"Martians do prefer their mates to be a little wild," said Carbine with a laugh, before growing morose. "But in case you don't remember, Vinnie ditched me…."

"Because of the hostility ray," replied Charley. "We find them, he'll calm down and before long you'll be back together and twice as sickeningly loved up."

"Gotta find him first, and Throttle." Carbine pressed a few buttons on her dash and scowled as she read the readout. "Um, I might be mistaken, but I have a bad feeling that both Vinnie and Throttle's bikes are…"

Charley looked over her shoulder, eyes wide. "Slap-bang in the middle of Limburger tower."

Carbine grabbed her helmet and put it on. "Looks like I've got a little rescue mission to perform."

"I'll go with you," added Charley.

Carbine opened her mouth to forbid her – then abruptly nodded. "I'll take what help I can get. But obey my orders. You're not a trained fighter; I wouldn't want you caught in the crossfire."

Charley grabbed her own helmet, smirking. "Looking out for me? Anyone would think you were getting to like me."

Carbine sighed, but allowed herself a grim smile under her helmet. "I'd ride with anyone to save my bros. Let's ride."


	6. Enemy Territory

**Author Note: **I know I promised I wouldn't be taking a long break from this story again but, um... sorry? I've had my reasons - he computer I usually work on crashed and although I had this chapter all backed up, the epilogue is not and nor is anything written for the next installment. I was hoping to catch up with it all before posting but time is not on my side during the summer months when the kids are off school. Hence I gave up trying to write anything for a while.

But I'm back, for now at least - and temporarily flying by the seat of my pants since anything that comes after this chapter has all vanished into the depths of a destroyed hard drive. I can only apologise, thank you all for your patience and hope that the epilogue is up far quicker than this chapter was!

**&**

"Uuurgh..." Vinnie opened his eyes, blinking a couple of times, wondering why he couldn't seem to move his arms to rub at his eyes. "What was I drinking last night...?"

"Welcome to the land of the living," said a voice beside him, one Vinnie easily identified as belonging to Throttle. Immediately, Vinnie recalled the harsh words they had exchanged and clenched his fists. But strangely, he didn't feel nearly as mad as he had done before he had been before he had been grabbed by the aliens; all that was left was hurt, irritation and mild shame at his behavior.

Taking stock of the situation, Vinnie realised they were in trouble. Both he and Throttle were confined in a small room, handcuffed to rings on the floor. It was impossible even to sit up for both of them. The air contained a suspicious smell, one that was all too familiar. The stench of Plutarkian.

They were prisoner in Limburger Towers.

Vinnie glared at Throttle, who reciprocated through his shades. For a moment there was a tense silence, then Throttle sighed.

"Vinnie, I – I don't know what came over me. What came over all of us. Don't you think it's strange that we all wanted to kill each other at the same time?"

Vinnie frowned. "Not really. Not in the middle of a fight."

"Which you started."

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

"Did – look, how it started isn't important." Throttle struggled briefly against his bonds, which refused to allow him into a more dignified position. "I think Limburger set the whole thing up somehow. He knew we'd hear about the plans to tear down the sanctuary and go after him. And then suddenly we're all at each others throats."

Vinnie shrugged as best as he could. "If I remember right, you were the one spouting off."

"But I didn't mean any of it! I just kept talking – I wanted to make you mad, to fight with me. If I really wanted that, could have done it years ago. Why then?"

Vinnie sighed. "Bro, if it makes any difference, I feel kinda bad about the whole thing. But I don't see how Limburger could have arranged it."

"I don't know either, but…" Throttle cleared his throat, clearly embarrassed. "I shouldn't have said that stuff about Carbine. I was trying to rile you up I guess. But it wasn't like it was me speaking! I felt – separate from the whole deal, like there was something taking over my mind and spewing out all those words."

"Yeah." Vinnie looked away. "I was mad as hell with all of you. Carbine, you, Charley… I was too angry to work out that I shouldn't be feeling that mad. I guess I wrecked everything."

"Nah." Throttle tried for a reassuring grin. "Carbine's not dumb; she'll know there was something else at work. You can work it out."

"Maybe," said Vinnie gloomily. "But she's not here. She might be in trouble…"

"More likely she's not been caught," Throttle interjected. "Or she _would be_ here. Her and Charley both. And if they're free – then they'll be thinking of ways to find us."

"If they're not pissed off."

"Since when did you become the voice of doom?"

Vinnie kept his eyes averted. "I dunno. Since I split with my girl, since we woke up in here – with Karbunkle in the building. And we're at his _mercy _right now."

Karbunkle. The man who had stolen half of Vinnie's face. Throttle frowned but tried to keep his voice reassuring. "Bro, he won't hurt you again."

"I'm not scared of him," said Vinnie. "_Bro_."

Throttle noticed the inflection and allowed himself a slight smile. "Are we bros then?"

"Meh, you know we are." Vinnie gave a grin and yanked at his own bonds. No give.

"Isn't that a touching moment."

Both mice whipped their heads around, looking at the door. There was a small gap in it, protected by bars. Limburger was looking through it.

"Hey, cheese face!" Vinnie struggled to look threatening while still pinned to the floor. "Let us up and I'll show you how ya do in a fair fight!"

"Oh, but I so like having the upper hand my vexatious vermin." Limburger opened the door and the imprisoned mice took stock of who was there. Limburger obviously. Karbunkle, sniggering to himself, slightly behind Limburger. And behind both of them, the massive form of Modo.

"My faithful muscle-bound mouse," said Limburger in a tone filled with glee. "Kindly take the prisoners to my office and put them in the stocks. Start with the white one. So irritating!"

Modo strode forward, no expression on his face, blasting through the chains holding Vinnie to the floor and picking him up by the bandoliers before he could make any move. Vinnie struggled ineffectually.

"Listen here, you rancid cheese," began Throttle from his position on the floor. "If you hurt Vinnie, I'll be after you so fast…"

"Oh, and how do you propose to do that?" Limburger sniggered as Modo carried the struggling Vinnie out of the room.

"I'll find a way."

"You caused me enough trouble back on Mars," said Limburger, smirk still in place. "It's high time I achieved my revenge."

"You were on Mars?"

Limburger laughed. "You mice know so little! It was I who orchestrated your capture and subsequent deliverance to the good Doctor."

"But Stilton…"

"Knew nothing. It was his fault that all of my plans came to naught."

"We beat you before," growled Throttle. "We'll do it again."

"Divided? I highly doubt it." Limburger laughed again. "And once we capture your female friends, my victory shall be assured."

Throttle raised an eyebrow. "You haven't got Carbine? Or Charley?"

"A matter of time, I assure you, Even now, Evil Eye and his Pukes are working on her capture."

"Evil Eye? As in Evil Eye Weevil?"

"His fame precedes him. Yes, as in Evil Eye Weevil. Although it took so little for you to fall out – maybe your 'bros' aren't as brotherly as you believe."

"Bullshit." Throttle fought further against his bonds even though he knew it would do no good, as Modo reappeared at the door and entered, blasting at the cuffs and grabbing Throttle before he could move away. Throttle struggled in his grip but the big mouse was too strong, would probably have been too strong even before his arms were replaced with mechanical ones. And Throttle's weapons were gone.

Desperately, Throttle aimed kicks and punches to Modo's torso. Modo merely held him further away from his body and the blows were glancing at best. In moments, Modo had taken Throttle into Limburger's office and slammed him into the stocks that had been set up in the room. Vinnie was also in a set of stocks, looking uncomfortable and angry. There were two other sets, both empty. Evil Eye Weevil and the Pukes were in the room with them, having apparently given up the search for the girls for the moment.

"Two vexatious vermin down," purred Limburger. "One to go!"

"One's all it takes," growled Throttle.

"Especially if it's Carbine!" added Vinnie.

Karbunkle tugged urgently on Limburger's sleeve. "Uh… your Dairy Creaminess?"

"Not now dear Doctor. I'm _gloating_!"

"But – your Cream Cheesiness…"

"WHAT!?"

Karbunkle pointed to the window. "I think we have a situation."

Limburger looked to where Karbunkle was pointing and his eyes widened. "BATTLE STATIONS!!"

**&**

Charley looked up at Limburger Tower. Most of the building was in darkness, but the light in what they knew to be Limburger's office was blazing. "Any ideas how to get in there? If we go through the front, he'll just send his goons out and anything could happen if they know we're here."

"One idea." Carbine glared at Limburger Tower, her face set in a determined look. "But you have to leave your bike here."

"Leave my bike!"

"It's a good bike Charley," said Carbine. "But it's not a _Martian_ bike. It can't scale vertical like mine can and we need to get up high. You're on pillion."

Charley turned off her engine slightly sulkily and climbed on Carbine's pillion seat. Before she could utter another word, Carbine set the bike in motion and leapt her bike at the building directly opposite Limburger Tower. Charley had never been on one of the bikes while going at a 90 degree angle to the ground and fought the temptation to let go and cover her eyes. She had trouble believing that they could defy gravity for so long, but the bike seemed to have no trouble in making the climb.

The bike made it to the roof with no problems and Carbine fiddled with her helmet, setting off the zoom function. "Vinnie and Throttle are in Limburger's office. You armed?"

Charley blinked. "Uh… no."

"Here." Carbine handed Charley a gun. "When I hit the office, you start firing. Try not to hit my bros."

"_Firing_?"

Carbine paused. "Charley, if you don't want to do this, you don't have to. I can leave you here and pick you up later. This isn't your fight."

"You're wrong. It is." Charley gripped the gun tightly. "Let's go save the guys."

"Can't leave men alone for a second without something like this happening," commented Carbine.

Charley sniggered. "Men. Can't live with 'em, can't shoot 'em."

Carbine started to laugh and Charley warmed to her subject. "I say we should have a 'male order' catalogue where you can order what you're looking for and then keep them out in a kennel!"

Carbine looked over her shoulder at Charley. "What was his name?"

"Huh?"

"This guy that's got you on such a downer on men. Who was he?"

"I don't know what you mean." But Charley sounded defensive.

"We'll get back to it later," said Carbine quickly. "I think we've been spotted."

She gunned the accelerator and Charley grabbed on just in time. Carbine shot forward, the bike doing a leap that seemed all but impossible and yet was executed with almost lazy grace. The bike slammed through the recently repaired window of Limburger's office.

Charley opened fire.

She had never been in a situation like this before. On the back of a bike trying to actually hurt other people – no, not people, she reminded herself. Aliens. Aliens that wanted to hurt her friends. Okay, so her friends were aliens too, but that was different

She shot repeatedly at the Pukes, who dived for cover. Meanwhile, Carbine unleashed a blast of her own, emitted from the bike, which freed Vinnie and Throttle.

Limburger ducked behind Modo as Throttle and Vinnie got free. "Destroy them!"

Modo's eyes glowed a fiery red as he raised his mechanical arms, the lasers emerging from their hiding places. Before he could fire, Carbine pulled the pin on one of the grenades she habitually carried and hurled it at his feet. Modo took several hurried steps backwards, managing to be far enough away from the grenade as it exploded to avoid getting burned or blown up. The floor wasn't so lucky, large chunks of concrete raining into the room below. The integrity of the floor compromised caused cracks to appear outwards. The combined weight of Modo and Limburger caused another hole to appear and they both plummeted into the room below, Modo's fall softened somewhat by landing on the Plutarkian.

Throttle gave a piercing whistle over the sound of the initial explosion and there was another blast from somewhere nearby. A moment later, his bike and Vinnie's burst through the wall and the two mice leapt into the saddles, shooting at the Pukes and Evil Eye.

The Pukes returned fire, trying to duck behind the trashed remains of the desk. But Evil Eye stood his ground long enough to again aim his hostility ray, firing directly at the mice.

Spying Evil Eye's mirror on the floor where the villain had dropped it when Carbine and Charley burst in, Vinnie snagged it with his tail and whipped it up, the beam hitting it dead on and sending it back at Evil eye and the Pukes.

"Too much bad karma in here," mused Throttle as the enemies were bathed in red light.

"Let's get out of here," added Carbine. "Hang on Charley!"

"Not the window…" began Charley, far too late. The three mice kicked their bikes into gear and aimed at the only window left unbroken, showering glass everywhere and completing the destruction of the office.

And in spite of the roar of the engines and the breaking glass, they could all hear the sounds of the three aliens arguing.

"And by the way, next time you guys yank my leg, I'm gonna yank _your_ leg right off and beat you to death with the wet end!"

"We were just doing our job, you bully!"

_"Yeah!_ We wouldn't even work for you if you weren't Elvis's alien brother!"

"Well, I never wanted to hire you little Pukes in the first place!"

"OH YEAH?!"?

The three mice and the mechanic stopped outside Limburger Tower to let Charley regain her bike, listening to the arguments which were still clearly audible.

"Music to my ears," said Throttle cheerfully.

"Yup," replied Vinnie, but he didn't sound as pleased about it as Throttle. He gave Carbine a sideways look and when she caught his eye, turned away hurriedly.

Carbine tried to pretend she hadn't noticed. "Back to the scoreboard?"

"You know it," said Throttle. "It's been a _long_ day."


End file.
